


Painted Red

by Hopetohell



Category: Hellraiser (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bodily Fluids, Period Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: The moment hangs in the air, tense; surely in a moment he’ll grimace, he’ll cast about for something to wipe his hands, he’ll leave.But come on. It’s Mike.Period sex with Mike is a hell of a thing.
Relationships: Mike (Hellraiser)/Reader, Mike (hellraiser)/you
Kudos: 6





	Painted Red

And yeah, when his fingers come back slick with more than need, there’s a moment where he just stares, wide-eyed, gaze describing an arc between his hand and your face, and he rubs his bloody fingers against his thumb. The moment hangs in the air, tense; surely in a moment he’ll grimace, he’ll cast about for something to wipe his hands, he’ll leave. 

But come on. It’s _Mike._

_It’s like you don’t know me at all, babe. C’mere._

And he reaches for you, leaving smudged and bloody fingerprints on your cheek; he smears them further with a kiss, so chaste, so at odds with the way his eyes are dark and hungry, with the way his voice rasps out deep from underground. _Let me._

Mike is filthy and lost with a face like a wild thing; he licks his lips and surges against you, so big and so warm; his hands cup your jaw and he could span your face with one hand but he is so careful and so gentle; when he kisses you it’s faintly coppery and strange. He breathes the words against your lips once more and his hands are already moving on you to strip you bare, to get at the bleeding, beating heart of you. 

_Let me. Babe. I’ve gotta be in you, fuck, I wanna see it everywhere._

And that’s the thing about Mike, isn’t it? He sees it and he likes it; he raises his middle finger to convention, to taboo, and he says _more._ And his voice is low and wondering as he watches two fingers disappear inside you. _Does it feel different, like this? When I touch you?_ He runs his thumb down to where those fingers disappear inside you and brings it back red and wet; the red smears he leaves around your clit have him openmouthed and panting and _god, babe, that’s a good look._

Maybe it’s like this: maybe he really, really wants to see you bloody. Maybe, babe, maybe it’s a no-consequence version of what he doesn’t know how to ask for. _Babe, you look so--_

Or maybe he just thinks it’s pretty. And he can't help himself, the way he withdraws his fingers just so he can paint you in your own blood; he marks you in curlicues and whorls and little oval smudges from your knees to your neck, copper tang hanging sharply in the air, concentrating hard, ignoring the twitch and pulse of his cock for the way his fingers slide through the mess. And when he finally lines himself up and presses inside, it's carefully, carefully; he draws back slowly just to see your blood on his cock. 

The sheets are ruined and he doesn't care, _I'll buy some new ones, fuck, I'll let the stain set on these so when I put them on the bed again I'll remember how this felt._ Like he could forget, like he has room in his mind for anything but the feel and scent and taste of you. Like he hasn't already memorized the placement of every red cell on your skin. 

It's warm and slick and it does feel different; sensation hits just a little bit stronger, hormones riding high and the bed looks like an abattoir, it must, for all the slippery squelching sounds of Mike moving in you, for the way he scoots back on his heels to see himself disappear inside you to come back red and wet. And when he asks _will you touch yourself for me,_ well, of course you will; now and again your knuckles brush his belly as you're pressing and circling round your clit just the way you like. And he does look delicious in your colors when you run your fingers up and over his chest, watching the bloody streaks appear on his skin. But the kicker is the way he grabs at your hand, the way he draws your fingers into his mouth. He sucks and licks at them til they're clean, eyes closed; the feeling sends a jolt all through you and with your other hand still circling it's just a moment's work before you're falling apart around him. 

And Mike, beautiful, filthy Mike, streaked red to look like an avenging angel or a lamb at slaughter-- Mike makes a sound like a punch to the gut, like a wild and wounded thing, and he follows.


End file.
